


At Last

by Felgia_Starr



Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Etta James, F/M, First Love, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts, I Made Myself Cry, Inspired by Music, Language of Flowers, Not Beta Read, Old Age, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Prompt Fic, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: Draco Malfoy, despite his misgivings and plenty regrets, has lived a good life. Nowadays, he mostly spends his time looking after his three lovely grandchildren and relishing in their youthfulness. This afternoon, however, he finds himself looking back at his past and reminiscing about Hermione Granger, the closest he thinks he'll ever have to a soulmate.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy (mentioned), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666876
Comments: 30
Kudos: 91





	At Last

* * *

**_present_ **

The best thing about retirement was Draco could watch his grandchildren play and be young for hours on end. If he were to be honest, he didn’t know the exact reason why he enjoyed simply watching over them, but he was certain it had something to do with their childish spirits and how they kept his soul ageless.  
  
He had a fairly small family, only bearing two children with Astoria before she passed away at the soft age of 40. He didn’t know what kept his children so busy nowadays that they couldn’t take care of their own children every day. They were from a different generation, after all; he wasn’t sure if he had truly understood them and their need to choose work over bonding with the family.  
  
But he supposed he had to thank them for their never-fading work ethic. If they had enough time to be with their children, then he’d be wasting away in the Malfoy Manor by himself until his own precious memories crumbled around him.  
  
“Grandpa!” the eldest of his three grandchildren, Astraia, cried out. “Lyra took my train! My dolls are supposed to ride on it, but they can’t now because of stupid Lyra!”  
  
“I’m not stupid— _you’re_ stupid!” Lyra shot back, reminiscent of her grandfather’s own tactless wit when he himself was young. With an amused smile, he watched as their cousin, Audric, took his hand out of his mouth and tried to snatch the toy train from Lyra, failing when the latter rose the toy above her head, a place where a three-year-old toddler certainly couldn’t reach.  
  
The two sisters often fought like this, and it might be considered as infuriating to some, but to Draco, exchanges like that between his two granddaughters made him smile. “You know it’s not nice to steal your sister’s toys, Lyra. Go look at one of the drawers in the nursery, I’m sure you’ll find more trains there.”  
  
Both of the sisters’ eyes lit up, and Draco couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him when Astraia and Lyra shot up from the floor and began to race towards the nursery room, no doubt desperate to best the other.  
  
He stood up when Audric stumbled to follow after his two cousins, using his wrinkly hands to pick his grandson up from the ground, sitting him on his lap once he got back to his rocking chair.  
  
“It’s time for your afternoon nap, little one,” he softly said. At his words, his grandson obediently lay his little head on his chest and accepted the nursing bottle Draco handed to him, putting the nipple in his mouth to get access to the milk inside. Smiling at fondness that bubbled up in his heart as he held his grandson in his arms, Draco began to hum an old lullaby he’d also sung for his own children and let the rocking chair sway in a gentle, almost-hypnotizing manner.  
  
He hummed and rocked the chair until he peered down and saw his grandson’s sleeping face. After making sure his grandson was in deep sleep, he carried the dozing toddler and placed him in his cot where he could sleep for hopefully a few hours.  
  
Before long, his two granddaughters came rushing into the room, their girlish squabbles quickly quietening down when he gestured to their sleeping cousin. “Play quietly, okay? Audric is sleeping.”  
  
The girls dutifully nodded, directed their focus on the new toys they brought from the nursery, and left him alone to lean back in his rocking chair, his never-ending thoughts churning in his mind.  
  
Sometimes, Draco envied their youth and the freedom that often came accompanied by innocence. He let out a bitter smile as he watched them argue over little things again, in the quietest tone they could probably muster. He wished that he had enough time to waste time like they did, that he could start over and discover new things again, but every day, it seemed like he’d already lived his life, and there was nothing left for him to do but reminisce about his young life and look back at them with a touch of regret.  
  
His smile slowly faded when he saw Astraia write something on the wrist of her doll, no doubt recreating a soulmate mark, and the all too familiar shame flooded his chest, causing him to frown down at his own left wrist and, for what felt like the millionth time in his life, hated what he saw there.  
  
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
  
Whenever Draco thought about life after death, he’d always wondered if he would be reborn again, with a new life, new features, new adventure, and a soulmate mark that never appeared in his previous life—and sometimes, he badly wished he could have that chance. A chance to live again. A chance to love again. A chance to experience being with someone who was made entirely for him.  
  
But thoughts such as those most often led to hopelessness and grief, and he’d always ended up forcing himself to recover from insecure parasitic thoughts that told him over and over again that he had no soulmate mark because he simply wasn’t worth one, that he was just one of the unlucky few that didn’t qualify for having a better half.  
  
Familiar tears stung his eyes, and he secretly hoped that shutting them would be enough to stop the overwhelming emotions. He’d cried enough over the matter as it was, and he had no reason to cry about it _now_ when he was already too old and everything was already too late.  
  
Perhaps it was time for him to accept the truth. Perhaps it was time for him to recognize the word-free skin on his wrist and the fact that he’d foolishly chosen to live his life desperately trying to grasp the closest thing he could get to having a soulmate instead of actually living out the life he needed and deserved.  
  
He’d married his late wife, Astoria, when they were both young— _too_ young, he now realized—and for all the wrong reasons. He still remembered the first time he’d caught a glimpse of her own mark-free wrist and the way he’d mistaken the sudden quick beating of his heart as a sign of love. The same night, he’d kissed her, his belly full of an unhealthy amount of alcohol, and decided as he’d stared into her eager and bright brown eyes that he was going to marry her someday.  
  
Now that he was older and had enough time to contemplate his life decisions, Draco could look back at his younger self and have the wisdom to describe his baseless desperation as juvenile stupidity. He admitted that he had rushed into too many things when he should’ve paused and taken in a breath or two to think about what he truly wanted in life before continuing on. If he had done so, maybe he would’ve realized then that Astoria hadn’t even been the closest he’d ever got to having a soulmate.  
  
No, there had been another woman before her—a woman who had a warm heart and an accepting touch. She was the first person in his life to make him feel like he truly mattered, like he still had a part to play in the bigger picture regardless of certain things he’d been born without. Most importantly, she’d loved him like she would her own soulmate—perhaps even more.  
  
 _Hermione._

* * *

**_first year_ **

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the bushy-haired girl introduced herself, an air of superiority about her. “What’s your name?”  
  
Draco blinked dumbly at the open hand she offered to him, wondering if this was a dream or another stupid joke. He slowly gathered enough courage to grasp her offered hand and shake it once, slowly realizing that it _was_ real! Someone was actually talking to him even after she’d seen his wrist!  
  
He cleared his throat. “It’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”  
  
She nodded, looking oddly pleased for some reason before she made him scoot over and sat to the empty space next to him. Awkwardly, he watched as she pulled out a book from seemingly-nowhere and began to silently read the text.  
  
Draco didn’t take his eyes off of her for a few more agonizing seconds. He didn’t know what to do. Should he talk to her or something? Never in his life had he experienced being approached by someone who didn’t immediately judge him for the lack of a soulmate mark on his wrist, and he wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible.  
  
“Um,” he started, his heart pounding against his chest. “What’cha reading there?”  
  
“ _Hogwarts: A History,_ ” she dutifully answered without looking at him. “I’ve read it a few times back at home, but I wanted to make sure that I don’t forget important details.”  
  
Draco stared at her with what others would describe as a bewildered expression. “So, you’re reading it from the beginning again?”  
  
She shrugged. “I’m just skimming.”  
  
Her eyes moved quickly across the page, but she never turned a single one. It seemed like he and the strange girl before him had totally different interpretations of ‘skimming’.  
  
Trying not to think about the matter too much, Draco also shrugged as a vague response.  
  
Hermione then turned her gaze on him, narrowed and judging, and he clutched his left wrist closer to his body, preparing himself for the blow she was surely about to drop on him. “You should do some advanced reading too, you know.”  
  
His eyebrows raised up to his hairline. That certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting. He’d anticipated some sort of cruel demand for a reason for his lack of a soulmate mark, but she seemed much more interested in getting him to read with her.  
  
In all honesty, the whole scene felt like a dream.  
  
The other children in the pre-Hogwarts school he’d gone to always made sure to humiliate him over the fact that he was different from the rest of them, that he was the only who didn’t have a soulmate. And of course, Draco had been simply forced to fight back with his own scathing remarks about their lack of wealth, lack of good robes, and lack of a family. They would immediately cry like the sensitive children they’d been and tell him to the teacher—and Draco would always be the one to get in trouble for everything.  
 _  
That_ was normal, and he’d long since accepted that, so why did this girl decide to crash into his compartment and act so… nice?  
  
That was when a realization hit him.  
  
Hermione Granger probably also didn’t have a soulmate mark, and that was why she had the heart to stand him and his oddity! That must be it! There was no other plausible explanation to how another person was treating him like he was worthy of her time—because she was like him, a ‘weirdo’ that didn’t fit into what other people considered as normal.  
  
Excitement rushed through his veins, causing him to act without thinking and grab her left hand to catch a glimpse of her bare—  
  
Oh.  
  
‘ _You’re Hermione Granger, right?’_ Draco read on her wrist, signifying the first words she would ever hear her soulmate say, and felt his stomach drop in disappointment.  
  
He felt her pull back her arm and let it go without a fight, not even bothering to answer her rampant questions. He stared down at his clenched fists on his lap, feeling tears stinging at the back of his eyes and trying his hardest not to let them fall out.  
  
Resisting the urge to slam his head on the table repeatedly, Draco opted for angrily calling himself stupid in his own head. He’d thought she was different like him, but Hermione Granger was just another piece of the world that hated him. He’d thought he could finally have a friend, but it seemed that the mark on his wrist, or the lack thereof, would continue to dictate his life.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he absently heard her ask in the midst of his miserable thoughts, and for a second, she sounded so concerned that he almost took the open hands she offered in front of him and believed her.  
  
He glared at her instead. Anger was easier to handle compared to sadness, after all, however irrational it might seem to others. “Stop being nice to me! I know you hate me!”  
  
Granger frowned, moving her arms to cross above her chest. “I don’t hate you! What are you talking about?”  
  
“This!” Draco impulsively shoved down his sleeve and showed the bare skin under there. “You’re here to make fun of me for this, aren’t you?”  
  
“What kind of person do you think I am?” she huffed, raising her nose up in the air. “I came in here because I wanted a friend, not to judge you for something I’m sure you had no control of!”  
  
“Oh.” Slowly, his anger dissipated, vanishing in the air. He put his hands on the table, awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs. “Really?”  
  
She sniffed, looking thoroughly offended. “Yes! Why would I care about some stupid magic tattoo? We’re not even old enough to worry about that kind of stuff!”  
  
“We’re 11.”  
  
“Actually, I’m 12,” she corrected, “but I still stand by what I said! Instead of ‘soulmates’, I think you should worry about more vital things like your dream career or, I don’t know—your education!”  
  
“I hardly think they’re going to fail us in our first year of Hogwarts, Hermione.” he said, slowly leaning back in his seat and shifting to a more relaxed position. He had to smile slightly at the blush that covered her cheeks when he’d slowly enunciated her name. “Besides, there’s more exciting things to think about, like what House you’re going into or what Quidditch position you’d like to pursue.”  
  
“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath before taking out another large tome out of nowhere.  
  
The longer he stared at her, the stranger Draco felt. For the first time in his life, someone had chosen to stay and talk to him like a normal person even after seeing his wrist. It should result in happy emotions bursting out of his chest, and it did, but he didn’t really know what to do with positive feelings.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Draco started with an apology, hoping that the honest words would cause even better things to happen. “For judging you, I mean. It’s just a very rare occurrence for someone to treat me like an equal even after knowing that I… that I’m different.”  
  
Hermione turned back to him with softer eyes and an accepting smile. Was it alright for him to secretly think that she looked really pretty? Or was that out of the question? “You know, Draco, it’s not a terrible thing to be different.”  
  
Her words stunned him, ringing back-and-forth in his head for a while before he slowly digested them and accepted them.  
  
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, and it made a spark of hope lit up in his chest—an earnest hope that made him believe that a kid like him, someone so different from everyone’s expectations, could still have a purpose in the cruel world he was living in.  
  
She made him want to seek for that purpose.  
  
Later, when she quizzed him on various first-year subjects, and he managed to answer almost all of her questions with a smug smile, watching as she grew frustrated over searching for things he wasn’t yet aware of, Draco realized that he just made a friend.  
  
And it was the most wonderful feeling to have a friend.

* * *

**_second year_ **

Trying his best to ignore the mean comments and insults thrown his way by the older bullies from his own House, Draco quickened his pace. One of the reasons why he absolutely detested going through this particular corridor was because of the amount of Slytherins loitering within it, practically waiting for Draco, so they could make fun of his hair, or his ‘Mudblood’ friend, or his shoes, or most frequently, his lack of a soulmate.  
  
“Stupid freak,” was a common insult amongst the older yet much more immature students. They found it strange how someone from a good family, good money, and good pedigree could be this odd—this _non-traditional_.  
  
Draco had tolerated the cruel treatment and harsh words for over a year now, and he was sure he was only months away from growing immune to the insults they spat, to the magicked paper planes they threw at him, and to the unfunny pranks they performed on him. Truthfully, he did not know why older people could remain as stupid as them. When he was younger, he’d thought a person would get wiser as they aged—clearly, he’d been very wrong.  
  
He didn’t wince when one of them tosses a crumpled piece of paper at him. He had his next class to attend; he had to keep on walking.  
  
Never in his whole year in Hogwarts had he ever fought against his older bullies. He would gladly bad-mouth someone of his own age, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength to stand his ground against these older students. He wouldn’t win against them, anyway—they were too old, too big, and too many.  
  
“Draco?” a familiar voice floated above the rest, reaching his ears before the others’.  
  
His head snapped up, eyes widening when he saw Hermione, frowning as she got closer to him from the other end of the hall. His heart began to beat against his chest as he panicked. He had never told Hermione of the treatment he’d received from other Slytherins, of the bullying he was consistently going through—and he didn’t really know why. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to burden her or to include her into his own problems.  
  
She stopped in front of him, bristling and stiffening as the older Slytherins around them began to tease him about ‘his little Mudblood pet’. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Nothing!” he denied a little too quickly.  
  
“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen!” Pucey, one of his more-frequent bullies, suddenly claimed. “The great abomination and his muddy girlfriend themselves, standing before us! Give them a round of applause!”  
  
Draco’s cheeks warmed as every single person around them laughed and clapped at their expense, and he so badly wished that the ground would just swallow him whole. The humiliation was degrading, and if didn’t have his pride, he would’ve started crying a long time ago.  
  
Abruptly, he grabbed Hermione’s arm, leaning into her ear. “Let’s just go!”  
  
She broke free from his hold and stomped her foot, inching closer and managing to glare the incarnation of evil—also known as Adrian Pucey—in the eye.  
  
‘ _What are you doing?_ ’ he internally screamed, but unable to say anything in real time, his limbs too frozen to move.  
  
He watched with a messed up mixture of horrified awe as she shoved Pucey with her small hands, taking her wand out and pointing it to her victim’s neck the next second. The other Slytherins tensed but did nothing. “If he’s the great abomination and I’m his muddy girlfriend, you, sir, are nothing but a disgrace to the entire Wizarding World! Your sole purpose in life is to bring shame to people of the same age, name, and House as you! And I promise that if you continue living like this, living like a bloody five-year-old who insults those who are younger than him just for the sake of it, you will never achieve anything great in your life!”  
  
Draco’s, along with everybody else’s except Hermione’s, jaw dropped. Surprisingly, no one stood up to kill her or anything. Instead, he even heard a few snorts and chuckles from the other Slytherins. Right then and there, Draco realized that most of his bullies were actually just insignificant bystanders and viewers of the more important miracles of life. He saw now that Hermione was right, that most of these people would probably end up contributing little-to-nothing to the bigger picture of the universe. They followed through every trend, they followed people with bigger personalities and dreams than them, and they would die as the followers they’d been born as.  
  
The realization hit him hard with a touch of utter ecstasy. It was an incredible thing to be reassured of the fact that he probably had a much more meaningful journey to come compared to most of his bullies—that he was a bigger person than all of them combined.  
  
But that realization didn’t mean they could get away without a scratch, so he snatched Hermione’s arm for the second time, this time tighter, and pulled her along with him as he ran far, far away from all the little people.  
  
Draco only stopped when he saw an alcove, quickly rushing inside, Hermione behind him.  
  
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” he blurted out, totally not freaking out.  
  
She glared at him, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me that those people were bullying you?”  
  
That question made him pause, causing him to look down at his shoes in shame. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”  
  
“Burden?” she repeated, and when he looked up again, he saw that she was absolutely outraged. “How long has that been going on?”  
  
He shrugged. “Ever since I got sorted into Slytherin.”  
  
“Ever since you—Draco, that was over a year ago!”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“But—why didn’t you? I was—” she spluttered, having so much to say yet no idea what to say first. Draco watched as her eyes softened after a moment, her lips curving into a small nervous smile. She took a deep breath before she spoke again. “Draco, I’m worried about you.”  
  
His eyes widened a tad at her words, and his heart began to beat like crazy. “What do you mean?”  
  
“It means I don’t want you to go back to your dormitories because I don’t want that to ever happen again. It means I want to go to Professor McGonagall at this very moment to report those students because I want them to be punished for what they’ve been doing to you for the past year! It means I don’t want you to just stand there and take every mean little thing they have to say!”  
  
His throat felt dry. “Why?”  
  
“Because you don’t deserve that, idiot!” she exclaimed, face reddening as smoke seemingly came out of her ears. “So what if you don’t have a soulmate mark or you’re friends with a Muggle-born? As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of their business! And I hate that you just did nothing for the past year! You should’ve hexed them! Or put a curse on their families that will last across generations! Or told a teacher! Or—”  
  
Draco tuned out the rest of her words, having heard enough. So many positive emotions already burst out of his chest, and if another was to come, he felt like it would be enough to get him sick. Hermione had just indirectly told him and literally showed him that he was worth fighting for, and that on its own was enough to encourage and motivate him to fight for himself.  
  
She was the first person in his life that ever told and showed him that his well-being was something that was worth being concerned for. It was all magical, really, how she had stood up, without question, to his bully as soon as she'd seen him in trouble.  
  
“Are you quite done?” he cut off the rest of her tirade, smirking slightly as he observed her panting.  
  
“No! It’s stupid that you continue to tolerate their—”  
  
“I know,” he softly said, “and from this day onward, I swear I’m going to fight for myself. I won’t just stand there and continue walking like an idiot anymore.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
He nodded. “I promise.”  
  
He would fight—if not for himself, then for _her._ _  
__  
_Surprise ran through him when Hermione launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” he said as he wrapped his own arms around her frame.  
  
“It’s not yours either,” she countered, looking at him with frustrated eyes. “This world is just so… evil sometimes, you know? Everyone just always feels the need to hate on someone for something they can’t control.”  
  
Draco heard the unshed tears in her tone and realized that she might also feel like she was being judged by everyone around them. Unlike him, however, she wasn’t judged for something she didn’t have, but instead for what she was—a Mudblood, by the prejudiced; a Muggle-born, by the rest; and the most brilliant witch, in his eyes.  
  
It was a shame that nobody else could see the way they saw each other. In the future, perhaps everyone could catch a glimpse of their glory—of what they were capable of if only somebody gave them a chance—but for now, they had to settle for private hugs and private tears for _each other._

* * *

**_third year_ **

This had to be Draco’s most nerve-wracking mission yet. Palms sweating, rapid beating of his heart, knees shaking—he had to inhale multiple deep breaths just to appear calm, making him look like he was suffering from an asthma attack. But he didn’t have asthma.  
  
He wasn’t panicking either. He was just very, very nervous, that was all—wait, where was his Hogsmeade permission slip? Draco fumbled around to look for the stupid piece of parchment, patting empty pockets on the robe he wore, but to no avail. If it wasn’t on his person, then—  
  
He slapped a hand to his own forehead. He’d totally forgotten the form on his bed! Ironically, he’d originally placed the form on the bed, so he wouldn’t forget it in the morning, but he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten the bloody parchment! Now, all of his plans were ruined!  
  
The plan had been laid out weeks ago! The first thing he’d needed to do was get his parents to sign his Hogsmeade permission form, which he’d already done. Then, he had to ask Hermione to meet him in a secluded area, which was over and done with. All he needed to do now was show Hermione his approved form and ask her to be with him when they visit Hogsmeade—because she already had her form signed and had been so excited to see more of the Wizarding World—but he just successfully ruined everything! All because he couldn’t be bothered to remember to pick up that stupid parchment from his bed!  
  
This had to be the most pitiful form of self-sabotage.  
  
“Stupid, stupid!” he muttered, wallowing in the endless pit of self-loathing.  
  
How in Merlin’s beard was he going to ask her now? And no, he wasn’t just freaking out over the stupid parchment he’d forgotten to bring, but also over the pink rose that he’d kept and preserved in his trunk for weeks now! He’d read somewhere that giving someone a pink rose meant admiration or appreciation or something along those lines, and he’d thought that speaking through flowers was much easier than actually voicing out his gratitude for everything that Hermione had done for him.  
  
It wasn’t meant to be romantic though! It wasn’t like he had lovey-dovey feelings for Hermione Granger—nope! He didn’t! They were just friends, and a childish part of himself that lingered even after the uncomfortable start of puberty believed that girls were icky. Not that he was saying Hermione was icky—in fact, he thought he was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, but—  
  
Draco forced out a stressed sigh. He needed to organize his thoughts. Hermione was coming soon, and if he didn’t get it together, she might think him uncool or stupid or—  
  
Argh, why didn’t he bring the bloody flower at least? Forget the stupid permission form! Everything would be fine if he just brought the flower! And he couldn’t even conjure another one out of thin air because his wand, along with the things he was supposed to bring today, was sitting on his bed!  
  
He felt an impulsive urge to drive his own head to the wall, and he was just about to do it when someone—a very important someone—called out his name. “Draco!”  
  
Bugger. Hermione was already there, running towards him. To the best of his efforts, he tried to regain his usual cool, unbothered, and relaxed composure.  
  
Draco forced himself to smile as he met her gaze, scratching the back of his neck in apprehension. “Hey, Granger.”  
  
She stopped right in front of him, beaming up at him, smile as bright as sunshine or something. “So what did you Owl me for?”  
  
Draco frowned, examining her expecting look. Somewhere between her gleaming eyes and her blinding smile, he decided to just screw his plan, to just continue on anyway without his permission form. He realized he probably wouldn’t have an opportunity like this again and that he needed to take his chance right then and there and hope for the best.  
  
Feeling his cheeks warm up, he slowly breathed in as he gathered enough courage to say the words he’d been practising for months now. He stiffened and balled his fists, wanting to get it over with.  
  
“Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?” he mumbled, looking down at his boots. He couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, not when he was practically setting himself up for humiliation.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
Draco dug his nails further into the skin of palms, wishing that the walls of the corridors would just come alive and squash his body into tiny pieces until he disappeared from the fabric of existence altogether. “Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?”  
  
When he glanced at Hermione to search for a reaction, he saw nothing but mild shock and a veil of amusement in her eyes. “Of course I’m going to Hogsmeade with you, Draco. It’s not like I can go on my own. We have to be escorted there.”  
  
“No!” He growled and grabbed her by the shoulders. He threw on a frustrated look, jaw clenching. “I mean when we get there, would you like to spend the rest of your visit with me?”  
  
There was a mesmerizing kind of laughter in her eyes as he watched her take in his question, but the smile on her face only grew more genuine, her cheeks reddening with it. Her whole expression took his breath away, in general. Then, she removed his hands on her shoulders and proceeded to wrap her arms around his neck in a surprising embrace. “Why would you even ask that? Of course, I want to be with you in Hogsmeade!”  
  
The beating of his heart didn’t slow at her words—if anything, he grew even more nervous—but he was also gladder than he ever thought he could be. He hugged her back, letting out the biggest smile he could muster for her when she pulled away.  
  
The day of the Hogsmeade visit couldn’t come soon enough, and even though a part of him knew that most of their time there would probably be wasted in a bookshop Hermione would fall in love with, he honestly still couldn’t wait for it.

* * *

**_fourth year_ **

Since Hermione came out from the top of the staircase, a shy smile on her face as she trailed down the steps in a breathtaking blue dress, Draco hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her or take back his jaw from the floor where it dropped a few moments ago. He didn’t have to look around to know that everyone in the room was staring at her, rightfully so, and he suddenly felt the need to thank all the supposedly-real deities in the sky for bestowing him the honour of being Hermione Granger’s date tonight.  
  
To say that she looked beautiful would be an understated insult. To him, she was more than meaningless adjectives and compliments. Her hair looked perfectly in place, and he knew her choice of style tonight was proving a point to all the people, including him, who teased her for her wild curls. As she got closer to him, he saw that her cheeks were dusted with a hint of pink powder, her eyelids were coated with the lightest sprinkle of fine glitter, and her lips were glossy, obviously lathered in the Muggle lip product she’d shown him once.  
  
Was it just him or did someone wack his knees with a hammer? Because they were shaking, weakening, trembling, and he knew that if he didn’t get it together soon, he would end up falling at Hermione’s feet, never able to stand up again. His heart was slowly coming to a stop, or was it beating even faster as she neared him? Did his lungs collapse or did she just successfully steal his breath away?  
  
At this point, he didn’t know the difference between organ failure and his mere reaction to Hermione.  
  
Draco froze, limbs seemingly too weak to function, when she finally managed to stand eye-to-eye with him, caught up in the allure that was her. She looked even lovelier up close, and as he stood there for a few unblinking minutes, thoughts of having her in his arms, her scent overtaking his senses, ran through his brain. His wishful subconscious drew up images of the two of them, older and less naïve, twirling around in a forest of lights as the soft snow fell around them. Standing there, mesmerized by her beauty, Draco saw a blissful life with her, Hermione Jean Granger—the first person who had ever made him feel like he finally belonged somewhere.  
  
As his heart paced, as his stomach get filled by butterflies, and as his fingers quivered—he felt the need to wonder if she felt she same, if she was as petrified as him, and if what he was feeling were the same things normal people go through when they saw their soulmates for the first time. He had to wonder if this was the closest thing he’d ever get to being completely and utterly whole, and a desperate, miserable part of himself had to pray to all those formless deities to bless him, to give him this one little thing, and to let him experience feeling complete with Hermione.  
  
Was it too selfish a thought to wish someone this kind, this beautiful, this bloody brilliant to be his for all eternity?  
  
Hermione giggled, taking him out of his thoughts. “Are you still there?”  
  
He snapped out of his head, smiling a wide smile for her and her only as he held out a hand. “You look beautiful, Hermione.”  
  
Draco relished in the blush he got out of her, excitement rushing through his veins. “You too, Draco.”  
  
He wished he could make her feel as beautiful as she made him because at her words, he truly felt like a beautiful soul floating about pink skies and white clouds. He hoped to make her feel like that, too—to make her feel good, to do things that would make her enjoy the rest of the evening.  
  
She gently put her hand in his, and he had to place a soft kiss on her knuckles, his chest feeling lighter when she let out another giggle in response. When he gazed back at her, he used his thumb to caress her fingers, softly smiling. “Shall we go?”  
  
Hermione bit her lower lip before she nodded slowly, the grin on her face widening. “Yes, we shall.”  
  
Without hesitation, he led her to the dance floor.

* * *

**_fifth year_ **

_“Hermione,” he breathed, holding her face in his hands and watching as her tongue parted her plump lips to get a taste of his open mouth. He groaned, his crotch tightening, and rested his forehead on hers. Shutting his eyes, he languidly leaned down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss._ _  
__  
__Draco felt her sigh against him as their lips began to move in a synchronized manner, her hands making a mess out of his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist. Wanting to feel every inch of her clothed skin, he pulled her even closer. He moved one of his hands to the curve of her waist, clenching her shirt in his fist in a sign of poorly-concealed frustration._ _  
__  
__When their tongues met, he released a moan that matched her desperate whimper. He didn’t waste any time before he explored her mouth, running his tongue all over what it could find. She slowly pushed him away with her tongue and roughly bit on his lower lip with a force that told him of her own frustrations._ _  
__  
__He couldn’t help the hiss that came out of his lips afterwards, tasting blood when he pushed away from her. Their short break was, well, short-lived, and it didn’t take long before she dove in again, feasting on his lips once more._ _  
_  
A loud slam right beside his face, resonating through his ear that rested on the table, startled him out of his dream, and he jolted up in shock, sitting back up as he attempted to blink away his drowsiness.  
  
Gradually, the sight of Hermione—her hands on her hips as she gave him a scathing yet harmless glare—appeared before him. Trying not to think of his steamy daydream, Draco ran a hand through his face, shaking the lingering exhaustion out of his body. He stretched his hands in front of him, moving his neck side-to-side to get rid of the slight soreness that remained there from his short nap.  
  
“Did you have a good nap, sleeping beauty?” Hermione sardonically asked, dropping to her seat across from him. Her hands reached for a book instantly, pulling it open to a certain page before taking down notes on a small piece of parchment.  
  
He yawned, a smile easily slipping into his face, his mind still clouded with the remnants of his dream. “Actually, yeah. Thank you so much for asking.”  
  
She shot him another glare before rolling her eyes, her focus returning to the numerous books laid out on the table. He didn’t know how she could manage skimming over so many words a minute, but he had to guess that it was just another of Hermione Granger’s many superpowers. “Did you even begin reading through my Transfiguration reviewer as I told you?”  
  
The longer he faced her inquisitive expression, the more images popped up in his brain—images of her on his lap, breathing heavily and cheeks flushed, before she pulled him down for a kiss. Eventually, he had to steer his gaze away from her, feeling his cheeks warming up. The dream was slowly yet surely killing him.  
  
Realizing that he hadn’t yet answered her question, Draco shrugged. “I couldn’t understand most of it—your handwriting is, quite frankly, _shit.”_ _  
__  
_He watched as her quill broke in half at his words, a soft laugh bubbling from his chest. He had teased her for her small and cramped penmanship so many times now, but she still remained offended by it every time he brought the matter up. _  
__  
_“Not all of us get to have calligraphy lessons as a child, Malfoy!” she snapped. “And I don’t have the time nor the patience to write my notes in different colours of ink like you do.”  
  
He chuckled. “Well, I’m—”  
  
“Can we just please spend the rest of our hours here in the library to actually study for our O.W.L.s?” she cut off, looking thoroughly annoyed. “I still have so many lessons to reread, and I know you haven’t even started memorizing all of Jupiter’s moons yet!”  
  
Frowning, Draco petulantly reached for an Astronomy book, suddenly eager to prove her wrong and recite all the planets’ moons out of spite. When he began reading, he absently heard Hermione mutter her appreciation of his shutting up, and he was half-way deep into a passage about the history of constellations when his odd dream proceeded to plague his thoughts again.  
  
He didn’t know why he was thinking about it so much—it was normal for teenage boys to dream about certain girls, right? He shook his head; this hyperfocus on dreams must be an after-effect of his Divination class yesterday—  
  
Divination! That was it! They were currently learning about different interpretations of dreams! Perhaps he could learn the true meaning of his dream from his Divination textbook, so he could finally get it out of his bloody head!  
  
Fuelled by curiosity, Draco shoved aside the Astronomy book in his hand, along with many others, to seek for the single book that could tell him what his dream meant. There was only one book, of course—Hermione was utterly repulsed by Divination, and his statement was only proven right when she let out a grunt of disgust as he took the book in his hands.  
  
He quickly turned to the page about _Relationship Dreams Symbols,_ casually scanning for something that sounded similar to his own dream. When he reached the part about ‘snogging dreams’, his heart skipped a beat.  
  
‘[ _To dream that you are making out with someone suggests that you have a subconscious desire to pursue a relationship, but fear that it will jeopardize the friendship_](http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamthemes/relationships-dream-symbols.htm),’ the first sentence read. Draco leaned back in his chair, letting the words crash over him like tidal waves for a moment. He recognized the pulsing in his throat as his own strengthened heartbeat, and he wondered what the fuck it all meant. Divination suggested that he wanted to be with Hermione Granger—as in _be with_ her, _date_ her, and be _romantically linked_ to her—and that he was only hindered by his own fears of losing her friendship.  
  
What was a fifth-year boy to do with that kind of information?  
  
Some people might say that his _feelings_ —he visibly shuddered at the word—for Hermione Granger was obvious from the get-go, that they spent so much time with each other that it was only natural for him to catch those said lovey-dovey emotions. But he actually never spent enough time to dwell on whatever he felt for her. Admittedly, there had been times when he’d been so caught up in her that he couldn’t even find his ability to speak, when he’d been so awestruck by her utter brilliance that he couldn’t get rid of the grin on his face, and when he’d desperately wished that she turned out to be his soulmate—but did all those things ultimately mean he liked her in a more-than-friends way and wanted to pursue a relationship with her?  
  
Maybe.  
  
Draco slowly closed the book shut, not bothering to read the sentences that followed the first one. He didn’t have the energy or the gall to mull over his feelings for Hermione, and he simply didn’t want to acknowledge the potential romance between them. Frankly, thoughts like that scared him, and he wasn’t brave enough to face his fear. Not yet, anyway.  
  
So, instead of projecting his emotions in a healthy way, Draco decided to just keep them all locked up inside him until he was ready to let them all out.  
  
For a short moment, he stared at Hermione, watching as her eyes moved across the pages and her hands moved rapidly as she wrote down whatever she was reading. Then, he smiled and went back to his Astronomy book.  
  
He would deal with romantic feelings and stuff later. Right now, he felt like he should just try his best to be a good friend to Hermione.  
  
Needless to say, both the dream and the thoughts of his unmistakable feelings for Hermione Granger haunted him for the next couple of weeks.

* * *

**_sixth year: amortentia_ **

Hermione Granger smelt of a nostalgic summer. He thought it had something to do with the creamy substance she rubbed all over her skin every morning and night. Whenever they would get close enough, he always caught a whiff of the fruity-floral scent on her person—something that, to him, was as bittersweet as the reluctant farewells that came with the end of summer.  
  
Throughout the years, Draco had got used to her familiar scent, and more often than not, he associated her beachy aroma with comfort, good-natured laughs, and _home._ Now, he knew it was dangerous to make a home of a person, to rely so much on a single entity, so he’d chosen to make do and play safe. Instead, Draco chose to associate her with the Malfoy summerhouse in France. And it was a perfect comparison because, like Hermione, the summer home hit him hard with memories of childhood innocence, careless winds, and a more hopeful take on tomorrow.  
  
He didn’t really know why she and her scent reminded him so much of sunny days and sandy shores. Perhaps it was because of her tanned, seemingly sun-kissed complexion. Perhaps it was because of her glittering brown eyes that were as refreshing to look at as drinking coconut water in the middle of a heatwave, or even because of her wild curls that, when free from confines, floated about the wind like the leaves of a palm tree. Maybe he was overthinking it. All he knew was if he had to assign a season to match everyone, Hermione would definitely be summer to him.  
  
Admittedly, he longed for summer days that made most of his childhood, for days when he wasn’t constantly plagued with fears of the future, doubts about his own purpose, and the many responsibilities that came with the adulthood he was only a mere breath away from.  
  
Like all things, however, summer and his youthful freedom must come to an end, and he’d already accepted that he could never go back in the past and relish in his old innocence, but it didn’t feel like he could let this one reminder of summer go. He couldn’t let Hermione slip away from his fingers, and it was time for him to do something about this feeling.  
  
As soon as Draco recognized one of the things he’d sniffed from the Amortentia to be Hermione’s scent, he knew he needed to do something quickly. The love potion only confirmed his more than obvious feelings for Hermione, and he just knew it was the perfect timing—especially after Hermione had recited what the potion smelt like to her and conveniently ignored the third scent, glancing at him briefly before looking away with a deep blush on her cheeks.  
  
He needed to take action. Preferably, _now._  
  
Wanting to take advantage of the courage that scourged his veins, Draco headed towards the library where he knew Hermione would be stationed at while she tutored some struggling fourth-year. When he caught sight of the back of her head, Draco’s heart palpitated, and he had to slow down his steps to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do.  
  
He was about to tell whoever was in charge of the soulmate marks to ‘fuck right off’. He was, indirectly, going to shove two middle fingers up their face. And most importantly, he was finally choosing his own emotions over the non-existent mark on his wrist. Draco was finally going to attempt defying destiny, and he just hoped that his effort would pay off in the long run.  
  
He stopped behind her, poking at her shoulder to get her attention. “Granger.”  
  
She jolted and instantly turned her head towards him, an affectionate glare in her eyes. “What, Malfoy?”  
  
He smiled at that. She would always refer to him by his surname whenever he did something to infuriate her, and he’d always liked it. He’d always liked her eyes, her hair, her face—he’d always liked Hermione Granger, in general. And it was time for him to openly admit that. “I have a question for you.”  
  
“I’m kind of busy right now,” she said through gritted teeth, tilting her head towards the wide-eyed fourth-year that needed academic help.  
  
“I don’t care.” He grinned, feeling the force of his smile up to his ears. “I need to ask you this now before my bollocks retreat to my—”  
  
“Malfoy! There’s a child present!” she scolded, flushing a deep red shade.  
  
He chuckled at her reaction, shrugging, feeling more motivated to do what he was about to. “I told you I don’t care. Let me ask you something.”  
  
Hermione glanced at the fourth-year for a split second before begrudgingly nodding. “Just make it quick.”  
  
“Okay, here I go.” For all dramatic purposes, Draco took a long deep breath and took her hands in his, kneeling before her. He could see the protest and confusion building up in her face, but before she could express them, he spoke first. “Hermione Jean Granger, would you like to go on a date with me?”  
  
A girlish squeal came from the fourth-year, but he chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the rapid changing of her face. First, she paled, eyes widening and jaw dropping. Second, her face turned beetroot red as she bowed her head, making incoherent, adorable sounds instead of a straightforward response. And lastly, she bit her lip, broke free from his grip, and sent him the most blistering glare he’d ever seen from anyone.  
  
“Hilarious, Draco,” she muttered, turning back to the fourth-year and away from him.  
  
He chuckled, watching as she tried and failed to act unaffected. The book she’d picked up was upside down of course, and she seemed a little too alright with its state. Slowly, he rose to his feet, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I’m not joking, and your book’s upside down.”  
  
She blushed in embarrassment again, shutting the book and putting it back on the table. “Stop it.”  
  
“Stop what? I’m not doing anything—I just want to go on a date with you.”  
  
Hermione groaned, turning to him with a flushed, helpless expression. She couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact with him, ultimately deciding to stare at his Slytherin tie instead. Lowering her head, using her long hair to cover her face, she mumbled, “Do you really?”  
  
“Yes, really.” He reached out a hand to push away the strands that covered her face, taking her chin in his hand to force her to stare deeply into his eyes. “I really, really want to go out with you.”  
  
Her eyebrows furrowed. “With me?”  
  
Draco nodded, the smile never fading away from his lips.  
  
“Are you absolutely certain?”  
  
“Yes! A hundred per cent sure!”  
  
She bit on her lower lip, looking lost in thought for a minute or two. Then, he watched as her eyes brightened and a soft smile spread across her face. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay, what?”  
  
Her cheeks reddened even more when the fourth-year giggled at them, and she had to shoot her a glare to silence her reactions before she clarified for him, “Okay, I’ll go on a date with you.”  
  
Little sparks of happiness burst out of his chest at her words, and it took all of his self-control not to jump with his fists in the air in a celebratory manner. Instead, he just smiled even wider and tried to act like he wasn’t completely freaking out on the inside. “Great.” He let go of her chin, placing an innocent kiss on her nose. “I’ll owl you the details tonight.”  
  
Afterwards, he winked at her and swaggered out of the library, looking more confident than he actually felt. It wasn’t until he stepped foot in the Slytherin Common Room before he let himself celebrate, fist pumps in the air and all.

* * *

**_sixth year: the great lake_ **

The soft pale beams of the full moon tonight scattered across the waters of the Great Lake, turning the otherwise terrifying and dark abyss into a glorious spectacle of light. The glittery waters looked eerie, almost enigmatically frightening, and the warm wave of peace that washed over him as he continued to stare at the picturesque view was a stark contrast to the fear a normal night beside the grim lake would evoke within him.  
  
Draco turned his gaze back to the beautiful woman that had been so thrilled to go out with him in the middle of the night, past curfew, just to munch on the scones and sip on the two pints of Butterbeer he’d paid a third-year to retrieve from Hogsmeade. Hermione had told him during their last date that he did not need to try so hard to impress her anymore, but he supposed he just couldn’t help himself when it came to her.  
  
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Hermione softly said, a precious smile curving up her lips. “I don’t appreciate the mosquitoes, but besides that, everything’s perfect.”  
  
He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to see you try to prepare an evening date without exiting the school grounds and ensuring we wouldn’t get caught by patrolling Prefects or Filch.”  
  
“Hey! I said I liked it!”  
  
A grin broke out of his face despite himself, and he slowly leaned towards her. “I know.” He tucked a strand of her curls behind her ear, cupping her face. “I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
She leaned into his palm, shutting her eyes. “It wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter. You practically threatened to wake the other girls in my room if I didn’t let you take me away on your broomstick.”  
  
Draco let out a quiet chuckle to match her soft laugh, and after that, he just held her face in his hands and stared at her, basking in the moonlit beauty of her.  
  
He absolutely loved it when her hair was let down like it was at the moment. He especially liked it when she didn’t have enough time to brush through the curls like tonight. In a faded pink jumper and worn pyjamas, Hermione looked raw and imperfect and so utterly human that he couldn’t help but admire her for her unquestionable bravery. If he were to be completely honest, a small part of him envied her because he knew that he wasn’t and would never be as confident or courageous as she was. He was quite wary of showing others his true, unpolished self for fear of receiving more judgement than he already was on a daily basis.  
  
Throughout the years, he’d mastered the art of stoicism, and he’d never felt like it was a necessary thing for him to react or express— _not anymore_ —but there was always an exception, and in his case, the exception was more-often-than-not Hermione. Why wouldn’t she be? In a world full of people living by the marks on their wrists, she was the only one who accepted him and befriended him and willingly went against fate just to try to be with him.  
  
With her, he felt like a truly liberated man. She made him think he was worthy of having a friend, a soulmate, and other close relationships, and sometimes, her eyes would speak of such intimate emotions that it felt like they were truly made for each other, like they were meant to be together.  
  
As he gazed into her affection-filled eyes now, he saw no signs of heartbreak in the near future, no possibility of her leaving him for a better man, and no desire to be without him. Her sparkling irises stared so intensely and so sincerely that he couldn’t find any reason not to believe them, not to believe her and her unspoken reassurances.  
  
He decided to dive into the certainty that she offered.  
  
“Hermione,” he spoke in a tone that was as soft as the moonlight strobing through her freckled face. He watched as she shut her eyes and leaned forward to let their foreheads touch before he did the same. Swallowing the overwhelming emotion that built up in his throat, he smiled. “I am so irrevocably in love with you.”  
  
Then, she did something that shocked him to the core.  
  
‘ _Holy shit, Hermione Granger is kissing me._ ’  
  
And like a dolt, he just sat there, hands gripping her shoulders now, wide-eyed and unmoving as Hermione fucking Granger kissed the living daylights out of him. When common sense finally reached him, he closed his eyes and pressed back against her soft lips. He was just about to deepen the kiss when Hermione began pulling away. For a short second, he almost gave in to the urge to grip her tighter and put her lips back on his, but he regretfully let her go.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he saw her before him, blushing and beaming like the bloody full moon above them, and felt a soft emotion settle in his chest. She looked so pretty and so adorable, and he just had to hold her hands and lock their fingers together.  
  
She chuckled, staring at their joined hands. “I think… no, I’m sure—I _know_ that I feel the same way.”  
  
His heart skipped a beat, and it seemed like he lost all feeling in every part of his body. “What?”  
  
Hermione looked at him again, smiling as she inched closer to him. “I’m in love with you too, you prat.”  
  
This time, _he_ kissed _her_.

* * *

**_sixth year: christmas_ **

With one hand, Draco parted Hermione’s hair to bare the back of her neck, whispering for her to hold her curls for him. He smiled when he observed the shudder that ran through her as his breath met her skin and held up the necklace he’d asked his mother to send him from the Malfoy vaults. Gently, he lowered the jewellery and promptly clasped the two ends together atop her nape, watching as she shivered once again, this time at the grazing of his fingertips across her flesh.  
  
It was a magical necklace, adorned with a small round pendant that changed colours depending on the wearer’s mood. He’d decided to gift it to her because he felt like the accessory didn’t hold too much promise or too deep of a meaning. He was afraid that if he had procured a ring or a bracelet, she'd read too much into the unspoken promises that came with it and run away from him. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away, so he’d opted for a simple gold heirloom that had little _special_ charms attached to it.  
  
Slowly, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him, watching as the pendant’s previously colourless state turned into a bright pink shade—symbolizing deep infatuation—as she continued to stare at him. “Thank you, Draco.”  
  
With a smile, he leaned closer to place a soft kiss upon her lips, never tiring of the constant sparks that overtook his body every time they touched. “I love you.”  
  
Her face flushed at his words, but the smile on her face never waned. Before she spoke again, she kissed him again shortly. “I have something for you too!”  
  
Surprised, he watched as she pulled out a well-wrapped box from her satchel, obviously casting some sort of spell to make everything fit into the tight space. She handed the box out for him to take. With a shockingly-excited beating heart, he grabbed the box from her and grinned before shaking it, thinking maybe he could determine its content by the sounds it made. “What is it?”  
  
“Go on! Open it!”  
  
Taking his wand out of his pocket, Draco magicked the wrappings away, careful not to rip the paper. It would be such a waste to just tear at the wrapping paper like a child, after all. One never knew when they would need a used and fully-intact wrapping paper. With a shaking hand—yes, his fingers were shaking from excitement—he took off the lid of the box and immediately peeked inside.  
  
Draco instantly grinned when he realized what it was—a soft grey scarf that had his initials on each end—reaching out with one hand to fetch it from the box, intending to make use of the gift as soon as possible. He casually tossed the scarf around his neck before wrapping a free arm around her waist to pull her in towards him and kiss her.  
  
It was simple yet consistent. Ever since they were first-years, Hermione had never failed to gift him a scarf she'd knitted on her own every Christmas, the colour varying every year. He never really found the purpose for the scarves, for he had tons of them from his own parents and from Hogwarts alone, but he always appreciated the fact that she'd purposefully taken time to create something just for him.  
  
“Thank you, love,” he whispered against her lips, intending to kiss her again, but she put her hands on his chest to push him away. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“That’s not all,” she protested, apprehension slightly dimming the usual brilliance in her eyes. “Look inside the box again!”  
  
He frowned and did as he was told. Gasping as he saw a book with an all-too-familiar title in the box, he didn’t waste time in taking it out, and when the book was in his hands, his fingers automatically stroked the cover in disbelief.  
  
‘ _Wide Open,_ ’ the title read. This was no dream. This was real; the book he’d been aching to get for the past few months was right in his palms. A rush of exhilaration rushed through his entire body as his eyes travelled down and saw the name of the author.  
  
Andreas Prosperfae was an educator, activist, philanthropist, and author who also founded Prosperfae University, the first-ever Wizarding school that accepted people born without soulmate marks. Draco had read about him before the start of the school year from a book he’d retrieved from the library in his own home—an old book roughly the same age as his father about exceptional wizards of history—and to say that he’d been intrigued would be an understatement.  
  
As far as he knew, Andreas Prosperfae was the most well-known mark-less wizard, and ever since Draco had read his first two books, he’d been inspired. Realizing that here was another person like him that actually succeeded in life and contributed something good to society strangely made him feel seen, motivated, and driven.  
  
And he’d told Hermione about all of it! He had mentioned to her how badly he’d wanted to read Prosperfae’s autobiography and now, it was actually in his hands!  
  
Excitedly scrolling through the pages and catching the familiar scent of new books, he let out a very unmasculine squeal before taking Hermione in his arms in an appreciative embrace. Merlin, he couldn’t wait to read the book!  
  
He peppered kissed on his girlfriend’s face, revelling in the shy giggles she released. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”  
  
Hermione took his face in her hands and kissed him squarely on the lips, but she pulled away just as quickly. Before he could protest, she said, “There’s another surprise!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Look at the very first page.”  
  
Following through her demands, Draco couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his throat when he laid his eyes on the ink that marred the first page—the bloody book was a signed edition! “Granger, what the hell?”  
  
She chuckled, no doubt taking pleasure in his speechless state. “Well, do you like it?”  
  
“Like it?” he growled. “Well, of course, I bloody like it, witch!”  
  
Then, he pulled her inwards for another, needier kiss, shutting up the laughs that would undoubtedly come from her. His tongue roamed her lips before she opened them and let him explore her mouth instead. He groaned when her teeth nibbled on his tongue before she sucked on it to ease the light pain. Not wanting to get things a little too heated for their tastes, Draco finished off with one last hard kiss on her mouth.  
  
When he pulled away, he caught sight of the satisfied smile playing about her lips, and he wished that he’d said every word of appreciation through their kiss and that she understood just how deeply he felt for her. “Thank you, Hermione. I love you so much.”  
  
His heart melted when her eyes brightened at his words and her smile widened even more. He didn’t know why, but the joy that washed over him every time he saw _her_ happy seemed as though it was out of this cruel world. It was as if the emotions he went through whenever he was with her belonged in a different universe, one purer and maybe even holier than heaven itself—because to him, there was nothing closer to true paradise than Hermione’s smile.  
  
“I love you too,” she gushed. When she kissed him again, he felt like the luckiest bloke in the world and maybe, he actually was. What was more miraculous than a boy without a soulmate mark being loved by a brilliant girl he knew he would never deserve even after a hundred lifetimes?  
  
Doubts surfaced in the darkest corners of his mind, but he suppressed them down for now. There was no need for doubts, not when Hermione Granger was in his arms, thoroughly kissing and loving him.  
  
‘ _Merry_ _fucking Christmas to me._ ’

* * *

**_seventh year_ **

  
He’d discovered the Room of Requirement one late night during his Prefect patrols. He’d been pacing back-and-forth on a seventh-floor corridor, impatiently waiting for his patrol partner whilst also trying not to make any sudden movement that would make his full bladder explode. That was when a door appeared right in the middle of the left side of the corridor, and when he’d twisted the doorknob to open the door, he’d seen a room filled with chamber pots.  
  
Needless to say, he’d been utterly stunned and a tad bit terrified, but when he’d asked a house-elf about the strange disappearing loo, they had told him that the magical room actually adapted to whatever someone needed at the time.  
  
After a few test runs, he’d discovered that the Come and Go Room could also hold the best of date settings, and he took advantage of this fact by demanding for the most romantic sceneries to have his dates with Hermione in. Ever since then, he’d never had to think creatively for his dates again, and he and Hermione spent most of their time in whatever room they wished for, doing important things like studying, reading, talking, snogging, etc.  
  
Today marked their very first anniversary and what better way to spend the evening than locking themselves in a place that no one would ever find them?  
  
They’d finished supper a long time ago, ending up in a bed the both of them sought for, doing things students shouldn’t be doing in a school.  
  
His shirt was already off, hers unbuttoned and opened; his hands spread across her bare stomach while hers gripped his hair in a desperate manner. When he moved his lips to her neck, she let out this knee-weakening moan right next to his ear, and as a reward, he sucked on the most sensitive spot on her flesh, nipped her collarbones, and ran his tongue along her enticing throat.  
  
He grunted as her hips thrust against his in response. The feel of her heated centre against his tented crotch set every inch of his skin on fire, and he felt like he had no choice but to move against her grinding hips. She whimpered when he thrust a little too deep, and his mouth moved lower, his lips landing on her ample cleavage. His fingers twitched, aching to have her nipples playing between his knuckles, grazing every fingertip, but he couldn’t.  
  
Even though he’d had his fingers and mouth on more private areas many times before, he still felt the need to ask for her permission. He wanted her to be an active participant in everything they did.  
  
When he looked up at her, she nodded immediately, her hands moving to pull down the straps of her bra. “Touch me, Draco, please.”  
  
And who the fuck was he to deny such politely-said request?  
  
He dove into her bare breasts without a second thought, his hands massaging the places he couldn’t reach with only one tongue. His teeth grazed her nipple, and her hips rose harshly against his, a moan flying off her lips.  
  
When he was done playing with her chest, he moved even lower, sticking his tongue in her navel and relishing in the soft groan that she gave as a response. His fingers toyed with the band of her knickers, but he glanced back at her for her consent.  
  
When she nodded and bucked against him, he pulled the fabric down to her knees, and for a short while, he just stared at her wet, pink centre, her feminine scent driving his mind to near insanity. After all the times he’d performed oral sex on her, he still sometimes could not believe that she was actually opening herself up for him.  
  
But he needed to focus and forget about the starstruck feeling he would get every time she bared her skin for him. His lips closed in on her clit, his middle finger stroking her dripping slit.  
  
He never did anything by halves, and pleasuring his girlfriend was no exception. He wanted to feel every sensation, to get a taste of every kind of bliss he had to offer, so his mouth and fingers did quick work on her heated centre, and he did everything he could—he licked, sucked, kissed, stroked, and drove two of his fingers in just to ensure her trembling in pleasure beneath him.  
  
Her legs locked around his head as she came, screaming out his name as she bucked against his face in wild abandon. He held her hips throughout all of it, softly leaving kisses on her slit afterwards.  
  
“Draco,” she breathed, an arm covering her eyes.  
  
He hummed in acknowledgement between her thighs. “Yes, love?”  
  
“I’m ready.”  
  
At her heavy words, Draco looked up in surprise. Although they had got to know each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths, they both had never been brave enough to perform actual intercourse. He’d dreamt of it many times before, of course, but every time they got close to sex, the timing never felt right.  
  
Until now.  
  
Slowly, he sat up, swallowing his nerves down his throat, and held her hands. “I think I’m ready, too.”  
  
She beamed up at him, and she looked so bloody pretty that he just had to kiss her squarely on the mouth. They maintained the kiss for a few minutes, and he initially wanted to keep snogging her, but Hermione’s impatient hands tugged at his trousers.  
  
He wrenched his lips away from hers to pull down the rest of his clothing, including his underwear, and when his throbbing member was free from confinement, Hermione’s eyes raked over his form hungrily, licking her lips as her gaze made its way to his erection.  
  
He took hold of his member, guiding himself towards her entrance, careful not to poke the wrong hole. Shuddering as the tip of his dick grazed her heat, desire quickly overtook his more rational senses, and he sheathed himself inside her. When he first felt her hot walls practically dripping around his cock, he groaned.  
  
Leaning forward to place a short kiss on Hermione’s lips, he put his arms on either side of her head. Then, he thrust home, fully inserting himself inside her heat.  
  
Staying true to his teenaged boy nature, Draco only lasted exactly seven minutes—yes, he counted—before he embarrassed himself and came inside her. Remembering his duties, he hopped off her to retrieve his wand and performed the Contraception Charm on her abdomen.  
  
Afterwards, they just stared at each other, and that was when he finally realized he’d just embarrassed himself. He blushed in utter humiliation, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the room as fast as possible, but Hermione pulled him down towards her alluring lips, giving him a reassuring kiss.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he muttered in between kisses, but Hermione kept on devouring his mouth. “I promise—” a kiss, “I’ll make it—” another kiss, “up to you.”  
  
She grinned as she finally let him pull away from her, and for a second, he thought she was about to burst out laughing at his lacklustre performance, but her arms wrapped around his neck to reassure him. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s fine. It felt good.”  
  
He perked up at her words. “Really?”  
  
She nodded, and he couldn’t help but let out a smile of his own before he gave into the temptation and captured her lips once more. He felt the familiar lusty stirrings in his groin when her tongue danced with his, his hardening member grazing her inner thighs.  
  
In surprise, Hermione pulled away. “Again?”  
  
He grinned wickedly at her, suddenly feeling enthusiastic for the rest of the night. “Again and again.”

* * *

**_after graduation: family dinner_ **

****Lucius Malfoy was one of the people in Draco’s life he tried not to interact with as much as possible. He was pretty sure that the old man hated him ever since the first time he saw the non-existent mark on his wrist, and he’d always made his disappointment for his son’s very existence known. The condescending glances to his bare wrists and the passive-aggressive remarks about his ‘abnormality’ from his loving father had been two of the most memorable moments of his childhood. But it did not bother him—not anymore, at the very least.  
  
Before he realized he was actually worth something in the world, the younger Draco used to treat his father’s words like it was a deity’s law. Often, he would convince the house-elves to dress him in long-sleeved jumpers, so his father wouldn’t be reminded of his failure. Back then, he had blamed himself a lot, and he would constantly do stupid things just to get some positive attention from his father.  
  
When he’d found out that his father was actually just being an arsehole, Draco tried to keep his run-ins with him to a minimum. He’d begun staying on the side of the Manor his father rarely visited, and he’d never attended dinners with both of his parents present, not really wanting to get into another discussion about how useless of a son he was, how much he’d failed the family name, and how he, a single boy, single-handedly ruined Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s hopes and dreams.  
  
Ever since he’d met Hermione, he realized he didn’t have to take anybody’s bullshit any longer, and that, of course, included his parents’. He knew now that he shouldn’t rely on everyone else’s expectations for him because they weren’t even the ones living his life. _He_ was living his life, and he was the one who was supposed to arrange his own destiny.  
  
But, of course, even people who didn’t want to be associated with their relatives in any way could still be forced into a situation where they had to actually interact with them.  
  
“Tell us of your plans, Draco,” his mother softly spoke up. She was a soft-spoken woman with soft-spoken opinions about her husband berating her son. “We hadn’t had a chance to talk to you.”  
  
He sighed. Family dinners were so unnecessary and so bloody exhausting. Couldn’t they just, he didn’t know, pretend he didn’t exist or something? They already hated that he hadn’t turned out to be the perfect golden child they wanted, so why did they even bother with asking him of his plans, his feelings, and his bloody life?  
  
As he opened his mouth to respond in the most polite way possible, he felt his breath catch in his throat. His subconscious hesitation didn’t surprise him. Who in their right minds would open up to their emotionally-abusive fathers and passive mothers?  
  
Clearly, he was insane for even agreeing to go out for dinner with them.  
  
“Yesterday, I actually received my acceptance letter from Prosperfae University, and I’ve always wanted to go there, so, you know, it’s kind of great that I can... continue my studies there.” Sharing stuff with his parents had always been uncomfortable for him, and if he had a choice in the matter, he would never have to do it again.  
  
“Prosperfae?” His father scoffed, pinning him down with his signature cold glare. “Is this some sort of joke?”  
  
Ignoring the threatening tone coating his father’s words, he forced a smile. “Nope. I’ve always dreamt of studying there ever since I read up on Andreas—”  
  
“Is that what this is about?” his father interjected. He’d never been the type to wait for someone else to finish before he expressed his own opinions—mostly because Lucius Malfoy thought his opinions mattered the most, when in truth, nobody couldn’t care less about him or what he thought. “You read a book about a worthless old fool, realized that he’s just like you, and now you aspire to be like him?”  
  
“I don’t want to be like him, _Dad._ ” Draco narrowed his eyes, the fake smile dropping from his lips. “I simply saw another person who may have experienced the same shit you and many others put me through and felt motivated by everything he’s accomplished!”  
  
“Watch your language, Draco” his mother scolded, her deceiving concerned frown on display. Narcissa Malfoy rarely got involved in conflict. He had an inkling that she didn’t really care about anything that didn’t concern her.  
  
He threw an exasperated glare at his mother, frustrated helplessness overtaking his emotions. Why did he even agree to meet them? Why couldn’t he just visit Hermione in her new flat like he originally intended?  
  
Oh, that was right. It was because the idiotic part of himself actually held hope for his parents’ change of behaviour. Perhaps it was the inner child in him that still desperately pined for his parents’ love and affection, but when he’d made the decision to come, he sincerely wished for his parents’ acceptance.  
  
Of course, he’d been wrong. People like them could never find the courage to change. They were both cowards, after all—cowards who failed to be bigger than their own expectations and took everything out on their son as though he had anything to do with their own mistakes and failures.  
  
Merlin, if only he had a time-turner in his pocket. If only he had the powers to turn back in time to change his mind on coming here, maybe he could’ve avoided all of this nonsense. Maybe he could’ve even gone to Hermione’s flat or checked out that hiring pub across the street from his own new home. Anything was certainly better than _this._ _  
__  
_Alas, his life was full of missed opportunities.  
  
“Let’s talk about something else,” his mother suggested when he didn’t speak again. Resisting the urge to snort, Draco let her continue. “How’s your love life, darling? I heard that the younger Greengrass girl has taken a liking to you.”  
  
Draco sighed. Why did older people feel the need to constantly delve into things they shouldn’t be concerned about? “I’m still with Hermione, Mum, but nice try.”  
  
“Still?” his father chimed in, a blond eyebrow raised as his mouth curled up in disgust. “Why are you still forcing yourself onto a girl with a soulmate mark?”  
  
There it was. The age-old question that haunted him since the first time Hermione had told him she loved him back. But there was something different about it this time—it was no longer contained within his insecure thoughts, but being voiced out instead by his own father. It hit a little harder, maybe because this time, he was actually, physically hearing the words with his own ears.  
  
The words, previously stuck only in his head, were now in the air, and they hurt even more now that he could actually hear them aloud.  
  
‘ _Why is she with me?_ ’  
  
Why was she so willing to act on her feelings for a man she most likely wouldn’t end up with? She was one of the most brilliant witches to have ever set foot in the Wizarding World, and she had someone on her level of greatness as her soulmate. He, on the other hand, was a lost, mark-less man who was still trying to figure out his place in the world.  
  
Perhaps he _was_ her soulmate, and they just didn’t know it. What else could explain the wholeness he felt whenever she wrapped her arms around him? What else could explain the warmth that surged in him whenever they would make love or the sound of their in-sync heartbeats or the way their hands seemed to fit like the most perfect puzzle?  
  
Was there truly something greater than their love for each other? Was there truly a more-perfect man for her?  
  
His heart ached at the reminder of there being another person being better-suited for Hermione than him. It was a familiar doubt that would enter his mind during uncertain times, and truth be told, he didn’t even know the answer to his father’s question. Numerously, he’d tried to tell himself that Hermione loved him and would continue to love him after she met her soulmate, but he couldn’t find the confidence to believe in his own reassurances.  
  
Why would someone like her settle for someone like him, all the while knowing that her other half was still somewhere in the world? He certainly didn’t know, and he was too afraid to seek the truth.  
  
“She loves me, and I love her. That’s enough,” he declared, hoping that the uncertainty didn’t show through his expression.  
  
The supper continued with more enquiries from his mother and unnecessary interjections from his father, and he thought that the doubt in his mind would soon vanish, that it would fade away in his own head again, but it never did. The doubt stayed for weeks and months to come, consuming his entire head and making its presence known within every waking thought, seemingly uninterested in going away anytime soon.  
  
That very same doubt would end up being the cause of his inability to stare directly in Hermione’s eyes, to hold her in his arms like he used to, and to find a rightful reason for him to deserve her love.

* * *

**_after graduation: nightmare_ **

The last thing Draco expected to find in front of the entrance to his flat after he came home from work was a dark-haired man, roughly the same age as him, sobbing into his hands as he sat pathetically next to the doorway to his flat. Noting that a bottle of Firewhisky sat beside the crying man, he made sure to approach the stranger cautiously, an alert hand reaching for his wand.  
  
At the sound of his footfalls, the man looked up, revealing his red, tear-streaked face that spoke volumes of the misery he was going through.  
  
Hesitating for a short moment, Draco sighed. “Are you alright?”  
  
The man narrowed his eyes at him, and Draco gripped the base of his wand, but something akin to recognition flashed in the stranger’s eyes made him stop. Did he know this strange man sitting on his doorstep and crying his bloody heart out?  
  
The man tried to stifle his sobs, getting up to his feet and wiping away the tears that marked his cheeks. When he spoke, the words came out in a hoarse, dry tone. “You’re Draco Malfoy, right?”  
  
He frowned, trying to rack his brain for any crimes he might’ve accidentally committed. Was this man here to arrest him or something? Studying the strange man’s profile, Draco deduced that he couldn’t be much older than him and would be considered too young to be a fully-fledged Auror. “Yes, why?”  
  
“I need to talk to you about something important,” the man said in the most peculiar tone. It almost sounded like he was begging. His eyes almost looked like they were pleading for him to do something. There was no denying that the man’s emotions were genuine, but Draco remained suspicious.  
  
“What is it?” he demanded.  
  
The man glanced left and right, looking uncomfortable at the thought of nearby ears that might hear what he had to say. “Can’t we go inside? I don’t really—”  
  
“No,” Draco shot down. The man hadn’t even introduced himself yet—how the hell was he supposed to trust him enough to let him in his home?  
  
Sighing, the man looked down at the floor. “I don’t want to alarm you, but—”  
  
“Just cut to the chase,” he snapped. A nauseating feeling churned his stomach, and he somehow felt the terrible news that was surely about to come.  
  
The man sighed again, but this time, when he spoke, he looked him directly in the eye. “Hermione Granger is my soulmate.”  
  
A chill ran down Draco’s spine. He dropped the bag of food he’d taken home from the restaurant a few blocks from where he worked at, but he couldn’t even hear it reach the floor. Suddenly, all senses were taken from him. His fingers went cold and numb, seemingly having lost its ability to touch or worse, to connect. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t taste anything but the bitter flavour of impending doom. For a few seconds, it felt like he couldn’t see at all, his vision going all blurry, his eyelids getting heavy. The world seemed to continue spinning around him, and everybody was fine with its rotation but him. He was the only one who got left behind, the only one who couldn’t catch up.  
  
“No, no, no,” he denied, not even feeling the words crawl up his scratchy throat. “No, you’re lying. You’re fucking lying!”  
  
“I’m not lying.” The man’s eyes went hazy with pity, and it infuriated him so much that it took all of his willpower not to punch all the pity out of the stranger’s body. The man pushed back his sleeve just enough to reveal his left wrist and to shatter his heart.  
  
There, on the stranger’s wrist, lay the words that wreaked havoc to his world. _‘I’m Hermione Granger, a graduate from Hogwarts: A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ ’  
  
No, no, no.  
  
This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when the doubts and the insecurities attacked his mind and heart and soul every hour of every day. It couldn’t be true. The doubt was only supposed to be contained in his head! His fears were nothing but paranoid thoughts he could lock up in the deepest depressions of his brain!  
  
It wasn’t supposed to come true!  
  
“I know you’re in a relationship with her, but I can’t—” the man rambled, unshed sobs getting the best of him. “I can’t live without her, not after I finally met her. I know it’s too much to ask, but constantly seeing her every day at uni, knowing that I’m not the one in her heart—it’s like fucking… it’s like not living at all, you know? Like, living without the other half of your heart, and there’s this empty hole inside me that I know is supposed to be filled by her presence, but she’s not with me—and it all just fucking hurts, man.”  
  
Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t understand. Even though he was not born with a soulmate mark, heartbreak was something he was very familiar with. It was the same shit he put himself through after a seed of doubt was planted in his mind, after he’d mulled over his relationship with Hermione and how unfair it was for her, after he’d distanced himself from her, thinking it was for the greater good.  
  
Even after all of that, he still couldn’t gather the courage to break up with her. How could he let go of the person who had been the closest thing to a soulmate for him? How could he let go of her gentle touches, sweet kisses, and her bright eyes?  
  
But now, looking into the tear-filled eyes of the man who had the ability to truly make her happy, Draco realized he had no choice but to let go.  
  
This was the man she was meant to be with, the man who would make her feel better than he ever did, and the man whose fate was forever intertwined with hers in the language of stars.  
  
He’d always been a coward, but he would never be so cruel to let her live a life without experiencing what she truly deserved.  
  
He was a fool to ever think that they had a chance in the great story of the universe. After all, the two of them ending up together was nothing but a sweet dream, and sweet dreams rarely came to life.  
  
Nightmares, however, were real, and his was finally staring him in the face, waiting for him to slip up and make a wrong move.

* * *

 **_after graduation: the end_ ** ****

Five days after her soulmate revealed himself to Draco, Hermione finally visited him in his flat, crashing through the entrance to give him a chance to explain. He hadn’t tried to contact her at all, and she was now beginning to grow tired of his attitude. Good, he thought. It was good that he was driving her away.  
  
“Draco, talk to me please.” She was kneeling in front of him, hands clutching the top of his knees as he sat on the couch. His heart broke at the hurt look in her eyes, but he didn't give in. He’d already convinced himself that he was doing the best thing he could for her. “Please, Draco. I just need you to talk to me, please.”  
  
He never spoke. This was all just a part of his plan. This was how everything was supposed to go. They were fools to ignore destiny and fate for this long, and it was time to make everything right—but still, why did the tears stubbornly continue to wet his lashes? Why did the lump in his throat appear every time he thought of being apart from her? Why was his chest constantly aching ever since he’d made the decision to let her leave him?  
  
That was the plan, after all. Like the coward he was, he knew he could never talk with her, face-to-face, and tell her he didn’t want her anymore. It simply wasn’t true; he still wanted her, still loved her, and he was afraid it would continue to be this painful for years to come. But Hermione, he knew she was the brave one—she would have the courage to let go, so he’d done everything he could to give her more reasons to break up with him. He’d done it all, and still, she sat on his feet and begged for him to explain.  
  
She was so strong, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would never be truly right for her.  
  
“Draco,” she croaked out, tears brimming. “Is this the end, truly? Tell me, are you done? Are you giving up on us?”  
  
He swallowed, resisting the urge to put his arms around her and tell her everything was fine between them, that nothing was wrong, and that he loved her so, so much. Instead, he gave a short nod and looked the other way.  
  
When Hermione broke down sobbing before him, he told himself to be strong, to let this happen. After all, this was for the best, for her happiness.  
  
Soon enough, his own tears threatened to stream down his cheeks, and he knew he couldn’t take seeing her so unhappy anymore.  
  
Shutting his eyes and clenching his fists, he whispered, “You should go.”  
  
Draco almost collapsed from the weight of his concealed emotions when she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, but he managed not to crumble, stiffening at the homely feel of her so close to him.  
  
He would never feel her this way again.  
  
The thought hit him hard, and his arms went around her waist automatically. The tears were now falling, but he couldn’t give a fuck. He was losing Hermione. He was losing Hermione. He was losing Hermione.  
  
 _For good._  
  
This was the last time he’d ever get a chance to hold her.  
  
He’d never wake up to her beautiful face ever again. He would never feel her lips on his bare skin again. The sound of her saying she loved him was something he would never hear again.  
  
He was letting her slip away from his fingers, and his desire to see her happy with her soulmate was too great for him to be selfish and willingly hold on to her again.  
  
When she walked out of his flat, he waved a silly hand to signify farewell at her, but she only looked back at him with nothing but pure heartbreak in her eyes—and that single look would successfully haunt him for the rest of his life, causing numerous sleepless nights filled with his own heartache and regrets.

* * *

**_present  
_ **

When he finally got all three of his grandchildren to have a nap in the playroom after reading them a fairy tale, Draco retrieved his cane and ambled towards his childhood bedroom, where he kept a trunk full of things that he associated with Hermione. It was hidden in a secret compartment beneath the floorboards, and he’d locked it away a long time ago, not wanting to be reminded of her again.  
  
When he’d first locked up the trunk, he’d been angry and hurt and so miserable. Most importantly, he’d been young and so very stupid. Things were different now. His youthful days were nothing but a fading memory, something he could never hold in his hands again. Now, he wasn’t as hurt as he’d been before. He was no longer blinded by the desperation to have his own soulmate; instead, it was regret that acted as poison, slowly spreading across his entire body until all he could think about were the terrible things he’d done and the good things he didn’t do.  
  
With a short intake of breath, Draco twisted the doorknob to his childhood bedroom, and as soon as he was exposed to his old room, the scent of long-gone days and the innocent freedom that came with youth crashed into him in soft waves.  
  
Shutting his eyes to prolong the illusion of an easier, lovelier time, he felt his heart swell in nostalgic happiness. Tears pricked at his eyes as he shut the door behind him, striding towards his old bed. He sat on the soft duvet and pulled open the top drawer in his bedside table. With his wrinkly, lightly-trembling fingers, he grabbed hold of the rusted key to the compartment.  
  
He kneeled on the floor, wincing as his knees hit the hard floor. Taking another deep breath to prepare himself, Draco removed the part of the carpet that was covering the compartment and unlocked it immediately. He took the trunk into his hands, placing the weighty box on his bed before he gathered enough courage to pry it open.  
  
The first thing he saw was a framed picture of Hermione. Gently taking the photo from the trunk, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It was the photo he’d taken of her in their seventh year of Hogwarts, and he remembered the day like it only happened a few hours ago.  
  
He grinned when Hermione in the picture waved at the younger him from behind the camera, his fingers stroking the frame. He’d been so happy then—not that he was saying he wasn’t happy now, but the joy of youthful romances was a different, more hopeful kind of happiness.  
  
She was so beautiful in the photo—like she always did—her hair flying about in the wind, a soft flush on her cheeks as flakes of snow fell on the tip of her nose. Tears softly strolled down his cheeks, and his heart never felt so young as it did now, slowly getting lost in her bright smile.  
  
There was no denying it anymore. He might not have a soulmate, but Hermione Granger was undoubtedly the love of his life.  
  
Clutching the picture in his chest as he let the tears fall, Draco had to wonder where she was in the world now. Was she still alive, even? Would she recognize him if they somehow met again? Did she remember his phantom touches on her skin as clearly as he did hers? Would she still be as beautiful as ever—no, that wasn’t a proper question at all. No matter what she looked like, no matter who she chose, and no matter what happened, she would remain beautiful to him until the end of time.  
  
If only he had a chance to see her and be with her again, then maybe he could tell her just how precious she was to him. Maybe they could have another chance. He could even tell her how sorry he was for hurting her, how much he’d hated seeing her cry that night, and how much he still loved her—after all this time, he still loved her _so, so much._ _  
__  
_There was so much he wanted to say to her, but it was too late. Their story had finished decades ago, and there was neither place nor time for bittersweet regrets and wishful thoughts for the two of them now.  
  
All he could do now was cry—for the things he’d never said to her, for the things he didn’t do, and for the true love he willingly let slip away from his fingers—and he cried _hard_.  
  
Sending his apologetic messages into the air, hoping it could somehow drift away and reach Hermione’s ears, Draco told himself that this was the last time he would mourn. After this, he would enjoy whatever remained of his days and just live—without regrets this time, and when he finally passed from the cruel world he was forced into, he hoped there was another life waiting for him. He hoped that his next life would be a much sweeter one, not filled with heartache, but filled instead with love. He hoped that, in their next lifetimes, he and Hermione could finally have a chance.  
  
Who knew? Perhaps they would even be born as soulmates there. And if that was the case, Draco suddenly found himself looking forward to his next life.

* * *

**_at last_ **

Morning walks were the only times when Draco could be found without his grandchildren. Usually, he strolled around the Manor grounds, but today, feeling a need for a change of scenery, he’d chosen to explore the nearby village.  
  
The village was surrounded by ancient oak trees, the branches and leaves acting as a subtle protector from the intense heat of summer days. At this hour, however, the trees provided comfort, bathing the entire village in the warmth of the rising sun.  
  
Clearly, the people of the village were early-risers, judging by the already-opened stores and businesses, the scolding mothers, and the mischievous children playing on the streets. Some of the older populace sat outside their homes, watching over the younger generation, and an even fewer number recognized him and smiled at him. The village’s tenants were aware of the Manor up in the hills, of course, but it was a rare occurrence for one of the Malfoy family to actually come and spend time in the village—even though one of his ancestors had established the village many years ago.  
  
It surprised him to see that people still recognized him. It had been a long time since he’d last visited the village—back when he was twenty years of age being the last time, if he could remember correctly. He’d certainly looked different back then, fewer wrinkles and stronger bones. He had a nasty argument with his father, and he’d ended up so angry that he couldn’t fall asleep, so he’d decided to slip out of the Manor and take a walk in the village. It had been midnight already, and only selected rays of the moon seeped through the spaces between the oak leaves, leaving a disco-like effect on the town.  
  
He remembered an old woman—whose name was lost in the deepest depths of his memory—and how she’d taken him to her teashop where he’d been fed and comforted by her and her family’s acceptance.  
  
That might just be his favourite thing about the village—its people. Even when he’d been a child and he would ask a house-elf to Apparate with him to the village, they had never judged him for who he was and what he didn’t have. Perhaps there were a few discriminations happening in the village, but he’d never once witnessed them, and he would gladly continue to perceive the village and its residents as one of the consistently-good things in his life.  
  
Slowing down his steps before coming to a complete halt, Draco looked around the village and tried to remember where the teashop was located at. He soon caught sight of it in the near distance and began walking towards it.  
  
When he made his way in front of the quaint teashop, he smiled, his eyes lingering on its nostalgic decorations. He took a breath before he entered and exhaled once he was actually inside the teashop. Immediately, he was hit by the sweet scent of tea and freshly-baked pastries, and his grin widened. Maybe he should take home some scones for his grandchildren to munch on.  
  
Before he ordered, however, he chose to take a seat first, on the table nearest to the windows, desperate to rest his weary knees for a few moments. He let out a sigh and leaned back against his chair, letting his muscles stretch.  
  
That was when somebody called out his name.  
  
“Draco.” It wasn’t much of a call-out now that he’d thought about it. Instead, it was a disbelieving hushed pronunciation of his name that somehow reached his ears above the soft chatter of the teashop.  
  
He stiffened in his seat, his heart quickening for some reason, and turned towards the direction where the voice had come from.  
  
The moment he laid his eyes on the person behind him, he felt his heart skip a beat. Relieved brown eyes met his shocked grey ones, and his hand lost grip of his cane. He didn’t focus on the sound of his cane dropping, too distracted by the sheer beauty he had his eyes on.  
  
“Hermione?” he said, tears in his throat as his hands trembled, struggling to grasp reality. “Is that you?”  
  
When she nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, he felt sparks energizing his veins. His eyes watered, his feet tapped uncontrollably on the floor, and his heart stopped beating, only to restart again for her. Only her.  
  
They stared at each other for what seemed like a worth-it lifetime. He took his time in letting his gaze examine her face, her figure, and everything else he could find on her. How was it possible that the passed decades affected not one bit of her beauty? How was it possible that she was still as beautiful as he remembered her?  
  
Her eyes never changed; they remained as youthful, as bright, and as brilliant as ever. And her curls were as stubborn as ever, a few strands escaping her bun. The wrinkles on the sides of her mouth did nothing but enhance her allure even more. After all these years, nothing had changed. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  
  
And she was real, so real. She wasn’t a broken remnant of his memory, but a physical person actually standing before him. She wasn’t a distant dream any longer; she was old, beautiful, and _here_ —out of all the teashops in the world, she’d decided to go to the one nearest to him. Because even if he proclaimed how much he hated the concept so many times—fate was still a real thing, and it finally did something good to him by making him and the only woman he’d ever romantically cherished meet again.  
  
The cup of tea she held on her hand fell to the floor, but they both ignored it, They just stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving.  
  
He choked on his tears when Hermione launched herself into his arms, shifting in his chair to accommodate her hug and not hesitating to put his own arms around her figure. It was like having the entire world in his arms, so precious and so very lovely, and he prayed to all the deities who cared to listen to let him be stuck at this moment forever, to lock him in an endless embrace, and to let him freeze in time and just spend the rest of eternity being held by the love of his life.  
  
He only let himself cry when he felt Hermione’s tears soaking through his shirt. Unable to help himself, he’d begun to ask stupid questions, afraid of how temporary this moment actually was. Why let them meet again? Why now? Why not decades ago when they’d been young and still had plenty of time?  
  
Hermione pulled away from him, putting the smallest of distances between them, and held his face in her hands. Tears soaked her cheeks as a smile spread across her entire face. Her hands stroked his skin, as though she couldn’t believe he was actually present, and he let her. By the gods, he’d let her do whatever she wanted if it meant they could spend an eternity together.  
  
At the thought, Draco held her tighter and touched his forehead with hers, watching as her lids fluttered close before he shut his own eyes. He could feel her breath on his face, and it was so reinvigorating that he almost mistook it for his lifeline. He felt her fingers shake against his cheeks, quiet sobs wrenched out of her chest, and he comforted her through whispering incoherent reassurances, hoping his words could pass through her lips, so she could take them by heart.  
  
A few minutes passed before they mustered up the courage to pull away again, and when they were apart, neither of them spoke a word, letting their eyes do the talking for the both of them. It was the sweetest moment in his life, and he wished it would last forever, that _they_ would last forever.  
  
He never let go of her hands, fearing that if he looked away or if he lost grip of her, she would fade away again. He didn’t want to lose her again—he wouldn’t be able to endure the pain a second time. And so, he gripped her hands tightly and prayed she would never be apart from him again.  
  
A strange tickling sensation on his left wrist distracted him, and he was reluctant to glance away, but the feeling intensified and grew into an itchy kind of pain.  
  
When he glanced down at his wrist, expecting some bug to have bitten him, his heart skipped a beat for the second time today.  
  
There, on his pale wrist, lay a single word written in black ink.  
  
‘ _Draco._ ’  
  
It was the very first thing he’d heard Hermione say today, and it was there on his left wrist, looking as though it had always been there.  
  
He gasped, realizing his wishes had finally come true. He caught Hermione’s attention, causing her to also look down at his wrist. She let out a shocked gasp of her own, fresh tears strolling down her cheeks as she smiled the biggest smile he’d ever seen from her.  
  
He smiled back, of course, his heart palpitating in utter delight. This day was turning out to be the best of his life.  
  
All of a sudden, Hermione frowned. For a second, he thought she was about to reject and leave him—but, thankfully, she didn’t. She stayed where she was, only taking back her hands from his grasp and pulling down her sleeve to look at her own wrist.  
  
His heart dropped. Of course. She had a soulmate of her own—how could he forget? It didn’t matter that the first word she’d said to him in decades miraculously appeared on his wrist; she already had her own words on her own wrist, stated by another man.  
  
All good things must come to an end, he supposed, and this was probably the finish line for their story. This was the true end for both of them.  
  
Before he could stand up to leave, however, Hermione shoved her wrist into his face, and he was forced to read the words on her skin.  
  
‘ _Hermione? Is that you?_ ’  
  
Draco gasped. Then, he cried.  
  
All this time, he’d thought soulmates were destined, fated, and meant to be. He’d never once contemplated that soulmates could actually be _made_ —with the right timing, exact circumstance, and the proper age—but there was no denying it. The evidence could easily be found on both of their wrists, and it was the truth.  
  
Hermione was his soulmate, and Hermione’s soulmate was him.  
  
 _At last._

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt used: Acacia Blossoms (Concealed Love; Beauty in Retirement; Chaste Love). I tried to include every meaning in the fic, and I think I did pretty good! This is my first fic that have Hermione and Draco at Hogwarts—I know they were flashbacks, but still—let me know what you guys think of this in the comments! I really enjoyed writing this one. It's just a feel-good fic for me!
> 
> Paalam! ;)


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